A blessing and a curse
by JennyWren
Summary: Oneshot Have you ever asked yourself why no one listens to Mme. Giry's advice?


**Author's note:** This story was written for the Mythology Challenge on POL.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the characters from "The Phantom of the Opera". They belong to Gaston Leroux / Andrew Lloyd Webber. 

**A blessing and a curse**

_"Nichts ist schlimmer, als zu wissen, wie das Unheil sich entwickelt und in Ohnmacht zusehn müssen" ("Nothing is worse than knowing how disaster develops and having to watch without being able to do anything") "Die Schatten werden länger" - Elisabeth_

It was rather dark in the managers' office. The candelabrum standing on the desk barely illuminated the faces of the man and the woman sitting on a sofa nearby. Until about half an hour ago there had been two men. Together they had discussed the unexpected reappearance of the Opera Ghost and the disastrous outcome of the Masquerade. But after hours of heated debates M.Firmin had excused himself. Now only his partner and the ballet mistress were left.

"Would you like another glass of wine, Madame?" M.André asked.

"No, thank you," she declined his offer. Unlike the two men, she had only taken a few small sips. In her opinion it was easier to think about a difficult problem when being sober. With a certain sense of unease she watched him stagger slightly as he stood up and refilled his glass.

"Perhaps I should better leave as well," she muttered as he sat down again, much closer to her than before.

"No, no, no! You have to repeat your last argument for me," he said firmly.

Mme.Giry threw him a worried glance, but decided to stay. This topic was very important. Christine had to be protected from the Ghost. So far, she had had the impression that she had been talking against a wall when she had tried to warn the managers about how dangerous that man was. Yet now M.André seemed so much more approachable.

"Well, whatever you do, you must not stage the Phantom's opera," she told him. "You can be sure that he doesn't only want that to happen because he'd like to see Mlle.Daaé in a leading role. He certainly has another plan."

He nodded emphatically. "Yes… yes, you're right, Madame. We can count ourselves lucky that we have you here," he said, taking a large gulp of wine. His glass was already half-empty again.

"Thank you, Monsieur," she muttered, not sure how to deal with the praise. Was it still a remark a manager could make to a ballet mistress or had it crossed the border to… something else?

Her question was answered when he continued speaking, leaning even closer. "Intelligence – I like that in a woman… especially combined with such beauty…" he whispered in a voice that clearly gave away his intoxication.

Smelling the alcohol in his breath Mme.Giry fought against a wave of nausea. ´Think of Christine!´ she told herself. ´You're probably the one person who can help her.´

"Now… about the Opera Ghost…" she started, only to be interrupted immediately.

"Oh, forget that Ghost! He has already ruined my Masquerade. But he won't ruin this night as well…" With these words he put an arm around her shoulders, which was quickly followed by a hand on her knee. That was too much. At once she freed herself and jumped to her feet, sending the manager tumbling onto the sofa.

"M.André!" she said sternly. "Stop this nonsense or I'll leave immediately."

"Why are you so upset?" he wanted to know, lifting his head to look at her. "Can't two people enjoy a little time together in such troubled days? I'm sure you'd like it, too, once you've loosened up a bit. Are you certain you don't want more wine?"

Mme.Giry could hardly believe her ears. Was this the same M.André she had always thought to be the more sensible of the managers? True, he had a certain tendency to look after pretty girls, and she had clearly forbidden Meg to be in the same room with him when no one else was around. She had never paid much attention to the rumours one heard about him, yet now they came to her mind. Why hadn't she listened to the advice she had given her daughter?

Fortunately he didn't seem to be able to get up. He tried it once, but sunk back onto the sofa.

"I'm not interested in you in such a way," she explained in a deliberately slow voice. "And you aren't interested in me either. You only think you were because you're very drunk. I'll go now and fetch your coachman, so that he can take you home. And we'll never mention this to anyone. Have you understood that?"

Apparently he didn't approve of the plan. "If you leave now, don't expect me to be on your side anymore!" he called. "No one will believe your ridiculous ideas about the Opera Ghost! Come back or else…"

Mme.Giry never heard the rest of the threat. She was already on her way to M.André's coachman. She could only hope that he was strong enough to carry him to the coach if it was necessary.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………...

The next day the ballet mistress had to deliver a note by the Opera Ghost to the managers. She didn't feel too good about seeing M.André again, but she also knew that she'd have to meet him sooner or later. As long as they both behaved like adults, they'd be able to forget the events of last night quickly. After all, nothing had happened.

At first everything seemed to be all right. The manager sat next to his partner at the desk, a glass of water standing in front of him. He muttered something about a headache, explaining it with the change of the weather. Then he remained silent, leaving the talking to M.Firmin. Inwardly Mme.Giry chuckled about the excuse as she read out the message. There was nothing to worry about.

Or was there? Listening to the young Vicomte's plan of staging the Ghost's opera she shook her head incredulously. It was much too dangerous. She could see the colour drain from Christine's face and knew she thought the same. Yet the girl would never dare speak up against all those men. So Mme.Giry would have to do it. But before she could open her mouth, M.Firmin was already expressing his opinion.

"What a splendid idea!" he exclaimed in a booming voice that made his partner groan. "If this works, we'll have a good performance and the Opera Ghost to be handed over to the police – both at the same evening!"

"And what if it doesn't work? Then we'll have a complete chaos, possibly with even more dead people…" the ballet mistress called, unable to listen to his nonsense any longer.

At once every head turned in her direction. She took a deep breath, trying to calm down. Becoming agitated would get her nowhere.

"The Phantom is much too clever to be fooled by such tricks," she explained. "He'll instantly know what's going on, and Mlle.Daaé will have to pay for it."

"Well, that sounds rather sensible, too," M.Firmin muttered, looking from one person to the next. He didn't seem to be as enthusiastic as a minute before, and Mme.Giry dared hope he might understand her worries after all. Yet then his gaze stopped at his partner. "What do you think about it, André?" he asked.

The manager had his head placed on his folded arms on the table, but now he looked up. His eyes met Mme.Giry's for a split-second, and she gasped slightly. They were full of hurt feelings and anger. She knew she had lost. This man would never support her opinion, no matter how sensible it was. This was no longer about Christine, the Opera Ghost and the Vicomte. It was about a man who couldn't accept he had been rejected.

His words confirmed her suspicion. "Your plan is very good, M. le Vicomte," he replied, giving him a smile. "Our dear ballet mistress is much too negative. But then, who can blame her? She has spent years and years listening to myths about the Opera Ghost. That's enough to give any woman strange ideas…"

If Mme.Giry had been less hurt than she was, she might have noticed that the other men's laughter that followed his statement sounded rather forced. Yet all she wanted was to get out of this office, away from this man who talked about her as if she was a madwoman standing in the street and telling fantastic stories to passers-by.

Walking past Christine she patted her shoulder lightly. "I've done all I could," she whispered. "Now you're on your own." The girl threw her a pleading glance, but she merely shook her head and left the room. She suddenly felt very tired and helpless. What was the point in knowing the answers if no one listened?

**The End**

**Author's note: **In Greek mythology Cassandra is the daughter of King Priam of Troy. The god Apollo falls in love with her and grants her the gift of being able to see into the future. Yet when she doesn't return his feelings, he grows angry and turns the gift into a curse. From now on Cassandra makes prophecies (e.g. about the destruction of Troy), but nobody believes her.


End file.
